Friends and Neighbors, or Two Ways of Living in the World by T. S. Arthur

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FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS;

OR, Two Ways of Living in the World.

EDITED BY T. S. ARTHUR.

PHILADELPHIA:

1856

PREFACE.

WE were about preparing a few words of introduction to this volume,the materials for which have been culled from the highways andbyways of literature, where our eyes fell upon these fittingsentiments, the authorship of which we are unable to give. Theyexpress clearly and beautifully what was in our own mind:--

"If we would only bring ourselves to look at the subjects thatsurround as in their true flight, we should see beauty where nowappears deformity, and listen to harmony where we hear nothing butdiscord. To be sure there is a great deal of vexation and anxiety inthe world; we cannot sail upon a summer sea for ever; yet if wepreserve a calm eye and a steady hand, we can so trim our sails andmanage our helm, as to avoid the quicksands, and weather the stormsthat threaten shipwreck. We are members of one great family; we aretravelling the same road, and shall arrive at the same goal. Webreathe the same air, are subject to the same bounty, and we shall,each lie down upon the bosom of our common mother. It is notbecoming, then, that brother should hate brother; it is not properthat friend should deceive friend; it is not right that neighbourshould deceive neighbour. We pity that man who can harbour enmityagainst his fellow; he loses half the enjoyment of life; heembitters his own existence. Let us tear from our eyes the colouredmedium that invests every object with the green hue of jealousy andsuspicion; turn, a deal ear to scandal; breathe the spirit ofcharity from our hearts; let the rich gushings of human kindnessswell up as a fountain, so that the golden age will become nofiction and islands of the blessed bloom in more than Hyperianbeauty."

It is thus that friends and neighbours should live. This is theright way. To aid in the creation of such true harmony among men,has the book now in your hand, reader, been compiled. May the truthsthat glisten on its pages be clearly reflected in your mind; and theerrors it points out be shunned as the foes of yourself andhumanity.

CONTENTS.

GOOD IN ALLHUMAN PROGRESSMY WASHERWOMANFORGIVE AND FORGETOWE NO MAN ANYTHINGRETURNING GOOD FOR EVILPUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKETKIND WORDSNEIGHBOURS' QUARRELSGOOD WE MIGHT DOTHE TOWN LOTTHE SUNBEAM AND THE RAINDROPA PLEA FOR SOFT WORDSMR. QUERY'S INVESTIGATIONSROOM IN THE WORLDWORDSTHE THANKLESS OFFICE.LOVE"EVERY LITTLE HELPS"LITTLE THINGSCARELESS WORDSHOW TO BE HAPPYCHARITY--ITS OBJECTSTHE VISION OF BOATSREGULATION OF THE TEMPERMANLY GENTLENESSSILENT INFLUENCEANTIDOTE FOR MELANCHOLYTHE SORROWS OF A WEALTHY CITIZEN"WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE"BLIND JAMESDEPENDENCETWO RIDES WITH THE DOCTORKEEP IN STEPJOHNNY COLETHE THIEF AND HIS BENEFACTORJOHN AND MARGARET GREYLSTONTHE WORLD WOULD BE THE BETTER FOR ITTWO SIDES TO A STORYLITTLE KINDNESSESLEAVING OFF CONTENTION BEFORE IT BE MEDDLED WITH"ALL THE DAY IDLE"THE BUSHEL OF CORNTHE ACCOUNTCONTENTMENT BETTER THAN WEALTHRAINBOWS EVERYWHERE

FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS.

GOOD IN ALL.

THERE IS GOOD IN ALL. Yes! we all believe it: not a man in the depthof his vanity but will yield assent. But do you not all, inpractice, daily, hourly deny it? A beggar passes you in the street:dirty, ragged, importunate. "Ah! he has a _bad_ look," and yourpocket is safe. He starves--and he steals. "I thought he was _bad_."You educate him in the State Prison. He does not improve even inthis excellent school. "He is," says the gaoler, "thoroughly _bad_."He continues his course of crime. All that is bad in him having bythis time been made apparent to himself, his friends, and the world,he has only to confirm the decision, and at length we hear when hehas reached his last step. "Ah! no wonder--there was never any_Good_ in him. Hang him!"

Now much, if not all this, may be checked by a word.

If you believe in Good, _always appeal to it._ Be sure whateverthere is of Good--is of God. There is never an utter want ofresemblance to the common Father. "God made man in His own image.""What! yon reeling, blaspheming creature; yon heartless cynic; yoncrafty trader; yon false statesman?" Yes! All. In every nature thereis a germ of eternal happiness, of undying Good. In the drunkard'sheart there is a memory of something better--slight, dim: butflickering still; why should you not by the warmth of your charity,give growth to the Good that is in him? The cynic, the miser, is notall self. There is a note in that sullen instrument to make allharmony yet; but it wants a patient and gentle master to touch thestrings.

You point to the words "There is _none_ good." The truths do notoppose each other. "There is none good--_save one._" And He breathesin all. In our earthliness, our fleshly will, our moral grasp, weare helpless, mean, vile. But there is a lamp ever burning in theheart: a guide to the source of Light, or an instrument of torture.We can make it either. If it burn in an atmosphere of purity, itwill warm, guide, cheer us. If in the midst of selfishness, or underthe pressure of pride, its flame will be unsteady, and we shall soonhave good reason to trim our light, and find new oil for it.

There is Good in All--the impress of the Deity. He who believes notin the image of God in man, is an infidel to himself and his race.There is no difficulty about discovering it. You have only to appealto it. Seek in every one the _best_ features: mark, encourage,educate _them._ There is no man to whom some circumstance will notbe an argument.

And how glorious in practice, this faith! How easy, henceforth, allthe labours of our law-makers, and how delightful, how practical thetheories of our philanthropists! To educate the _Good_--the good in_All_: to raise every man in his own opinion, and yet to stifle allarrogance, by showing that all possess this Good. _In_ themselves,but not _of_ themselves. Had we but faith in this truth, how soonshould we all be digging through the darkness, for this Gold ofLove--this universal Good. A Howard, and a Fry, cleansed andhumanized our prisons, to find this Good; and in the chambers of allour hearts it is to be found, by labouring eyes and loving hands.

Why all our harsh enactments? Is it from experience of the strengthof vice in ourselves that we cage, chain, torture, and hang men? Arenone of us indebted to friendly hands, careful advisers; to thegenerous, trusting guidance, solace, of some gentler being, who hasloved us, despite the evil that is in _us_--for our little Good, andhas nurtured that Good with smiles and tears and prayers? O, we knownot how like we are to those whom we despise! We know not how manymemories of kith and kin the murderer carries to the gallows--howmuch honesty of heart the felon drags with him to the hulks.

There is Good in All. Dodd, the forger, was a better man than mostof us: Eugene Aram, the homicide, would turn his foot from a worm.Do not mistake us. Society demands, requires that these madmenshould be rendered harmless. There is no nature dead to all Good.Lady Macbeth would have slain the old king, Had he not resembled herfather as he slept.

It is a frequent thought, but a careless and worthless one, becausenever acted on, that the same energies, the same will to greatvices, had given force to great virtues. Do we provide theopportunity? Do we _believe_ in Good? If we are ourselves deceivedin any one, is not all, thenceforth, deceit? if treated withcontempt, is not the whole world clouded with scorn? if visited withmeanness, are not all selfish? And if from one of our frailerfellow-creatures we receive the blow, we cease to believe in women.Not the breast at which we have drank life--not the sisterly handsthat have guided ours--not the one voice that has so often soothedus in our darker hours, will save the sex: All are massed in onecommon sentence: all bad. There may be Delilahs: there are manyRuths. We should not lightly give them up. Napoleon lost France whenhe lost Josephine. The one light in Rembrandt's gloomy life was hissister.

And all are to be approached at some point. The proudest bends tosome feeling--Coriolanus conquered Rome: but the husband conqueredthe hero. The money-maker has influences beyond his gold--Reynoldsmade an exhibition of his carriage, but he was generous toNorthcote, and had time to think of the poor Plymptonschoolmistress. The cold are not all ice. Elizabeth slew Essex--thequeen triumphed; the woman _died._

There is Good in All. Let us show our faith in it. When the lazywhine of the mendicant jars on your ears, think of his unaided,unschooled childhood; think that his lean cheeks never knew thebaby-roundness of content that ours have worn; that his eye knew noyouth of fire--no manhood of expectancy. Pity, help, teach him. Whenyou see the trader, without any pride of vocation, seeking how hecan best cheat you, and degrade himself, glance into the room behindhis shop and see there his pale wife and his thin children, andthink how cheerfully he meets that circle in the only hour he hasout of the twenty-four. Pity his narrowness of mind; his want ofreliance upon the God of Good; but remember there have beenGreshams, and Heriots, and Whittingtons; and remember, too, that inour happy land there are thousands of almshouses, built by the menof trade alone. And when you are discontented with the great, andmurmur, repiningly, of Marvel in his garret, or Milton in hishiding-place, turn in justice to the Good among the great. Read howJohn of Lancaster loved Chaucer and sheltered Wicliff. There havebeen Burkes as well as Walpoles. Russell remembered Banim's widow,and Peel forgot not Haydn.

Once more: believe that in every class there is Good; in every man,Good. That in the highest and most tempted, as well as in thelowest, there is often a higher nobility than of rank. Pericles andAlexander had great, but different virtues, and although therefinement of the one may have resulted in effeminacy, and thehardihood of the other in brutality, we ought to pause ere wecondemn where we should all have fallen.

Look only for the Good. It will make you welcome everywhere, andeverywhere it will make you an instrument to good. The lantern ofDiogenes is a poor guide when compared with the Light God hath setin the heavens; a Light which shines into the solitary cottage andthe squalid alley, where the children of many vices are hourlyexchanging deeds of kindness; a Light shining into the rooms ofdingy warehousemen and thrifty clerks, whose hard labour and hoardedcoins are for wife and child and friend; shining into prison andworkhouse, where sin and sorrow glimmer with sad eyes through rustybars into distant homes and mourning hearths; shining through heavycurtains, and round sumptuous tables, where the heart throbs audiblythrough velvet mantle and silken vest, and where eye meets eye withaffection and sympathy; shining everywhere upon God's creatures, andwith its broad beams lighting up a virtue wherever it falls, andtelling the proud, the wronged, the merciless, or the despairing,that there is "Good in All."

HUMAN PROGRESS.

WE are told to look through nature Upward unto Nature's God;We are told there is a scripture Written on the meanest sod;That the simplest flower created Is a key to hidden things;But, immortal over nature, Mind, the lord of nature, springs!

Deeper than the vast Atlantic Rolls the tide of human thought;Farther speeds that mental ocean Than the world of waves o'er sought!Mind, sublime in its own essence Its sublimity can lendTo the rocks, and mounts, and torrents, And, at will, their features bend!

Some within the humblest _floweret_ "Thoughts too deep for tears" can see;Oh, the humblest man existing Is a sadder theme to me!Thus I take the mightier labour Of the great Almighty hand;And, through man to the Creator, Upward look, and weeping stand.

Thus I take the mightier labour, --Crowning glory of _His_ will;And believe that in the meanest Lives a spark of Godhead still:Something that, by Truth expanded, Might be fostered into worth;Something struggling through the darkness, Owning an immortal birth!

From the Genesis of being Unto this imperfect day,Hath Humanity held onward, Praying God to aid its way!And Man's progress had been swifter, Had he never turned aside,To the worship of a symbol, Not the spirit signified!

And Man's progress had been higher, Had he owned his brother man,Left his narrow, selfish circle, For a world-embracing plan!There are some for ever craving, Ever discontent with place,In the eternal would find briefness, In the infinite want space.

If through man unto his Maker We the source of truth would find,It must be through man enlightened, Educated, raised, refined:That which the Divine hath fashioned Ignorance hath oft effaced;Never may we see God's image In man darkened--man debased!

Something yield to Recreation, Something to Improvement give;There's a Spiritual kingdom Where the Spirit hopes to live!There's a mental world of grandeur, Which the mind inspires to know;Founts of everlasting beauty That, for those who seek them, flow!

Shores where Genius breathes immortal-- Where the very winds conveyGlorious thoughts of Education, Holding universal sway!Glorious hopes of Human Freedom, Freedom of the noblest kind;That which springs from Cultivation, Cheers and elevates the mind!

Let us hope for Better Prospects, Strong to struggle for the night,We appeal to Truth, and ever Truth's omnipotent in might;Hasten, then, the People's Progress, Ere their last faint hope be gone;Teach the Nations that their interest And the People's good, ARE ONE.

MY WASHERWOMAN.

SOME people have a singular reluctance to part with money. If waitedon for a bill, they say, almost involuntarily, "Call to-morrow,"even though their pockets are far from being empty.

I once fell into this bad habit myself; but a little incident, whichI will relate, cured me. Not many years after I had attained mymajority, a poor widow, named Blake, did my washing and ironing. Shewas the mother of two or three little children, whose soledependence for food and raiment was on the labour of her hands.

Punctually, every Thursday morning, Mrs. Blake appeared with myclothes, "white as the driven snow;" but not always, as punctually,did I pay the pittance she had earned by hard labour.

"Mrs. Blake is down stairs," said a servant, tapping at my room-doorone morning, while I was in the act of dressing myself.

"Oh, very well," I replied. "Tell her to leave my clothes. I willget them when I come down."

The thought of paying the seventy-five cents, her due, crossed mymind. But I said to myself,--"It's but a small matter, and will doas well when she comes again."

There was in this a certain reluctance to part with money. My fundswere low, and I might need what change I had during the day. And soit proved. As I went to the office in which I was engaged, somesmall article of ornament caught my eye in a shop window.

"Beautiful!" said I, as I stood looking at it. Admiration quicklychanged into the desire for possession; and so I stepped in to askthe price. It was just two dollars.

"Cheap enough," thought I. And this very cheapness was a furthertemptation.

So I turned out the contents of my pockets, counted them over, andfound the amount to be two dollars and a quarter.

"I guess I'll take it," said I, laying the money on the shopkeeper'scounter.

"I'd better have paid Mrs. Blake." This thought crossed my mind, anhour afterwards, by which time the little ornament had lost itspower of pleasing. "So much would at least have been saved."

I was leaving the table, after tea, on the evening that followed,when the waiter said to me,

"Mrs. Blake is at the door, and wishes to see you."

I felt a little worried at hearing this; for I had no change in mypockets, and the poor washerwoman had, of course, come for hermoney.

"She's in a great hurry," I muttered to myself, as I descended tothe door.

"You'll have to wait until you bring home my clothes next week, Mrs.Blake. I haven't any change, this evening."

The expression of the poor woman's face, as she turned slowly away,without speaking, rather softened my feelings.

"I'm sorry," said I, "but it can't be helped now. I wish you hadsaid, this morning, that you wanted money. I could have paid youthen."

She paused, and turned partly towards me, as I said this. Then shemoved off, with something so sad in her manner, that I was touchedsensibly.

"I ought to have paid her this morning, when I had the change aboutme. And I wish I had done so. Why didn't she ask for her money, ifshe wanted it so badly?"

I felt, of course, rather ill at ease. A little while afterwards Imet the lady with whom I was boarding.

"Do you know anything about this Mrs. Blake, who washes for me?" Iinquired.

"Not much; except that she is very poor, and has three children tofeed and clothe. And what is worst of all, she is in bad health. Ithink she told me, this morning, that one of her little ones wasvery sick."

I was smitten with a feeling of self-condemnation, and soon afterleft the room. It was too late to remedy the evil, for I had only asixpence in my pocket; and, moreover, did not know where to findMrs. Blake.

Having purposed to make a call upon some young ladies that evening,I now went up into my room to dress. Upon my bed lay the spotlesslinen brought home by Mrs. Blake in the morning. The sight of itrebuked me; and I had to conquer, with some force, an instinctivereluctance, before I could compel myself to put on a clean shirt,and snow-white vest, too recently from the hand of my unpaidwasherwoman.

One of the young ladies upon whom I called was more to me than amere pleasant acquaintance. My heart had, in fact, been warmingtowards her for some time; and I was particularly anxious to findfavour in her eyes. On this evening she was lovelier and moreattractive than ever, and new bonds of affection entwined themselvesaround my heart.

Judge, then, of the effect produced upon me by the entrance of hermother--at the very moment when my heart was all a-glow with love,who said, as she came in--

"Oh, dear! This is a strange world!"

"What new feature have you discovered now, mother?" asked one of herdaughters, smiling.

"No new one, child; but an old one that looks more repulsive thanever," was replied. "Poor Mrs. Blake came to see me just now, ingreat trouble."

"What about, mother?" All the young ladies at once manifestedunusual interest.

Tell-tale blushes came instantly to my countenance, upon which theeyes of the mother turned themselves, as I felt, with a severescrutiny.

"The old story, in cases like hers," was answered. "Can't get hermoney when earned, although for daily bread she is dependent on herdaily labour. With no food in the house, or money to buy medicinefor her sick child, she was compelled to seek me to-night, and tohumble her spirit, which is an independent one, so low as to askbread for her little ones, and the loan of a pittance with which toget what the doctor has ordered her feeble sufferer at home."

"Oh, what a shame!" fell from the lips of Ellen, the one in whom myheart felt more than a passing interest; and she looked at meearnestly as she spoke.

"She fully expected," said the mother, "to get a trifle that was dueher from a young man who boards with Mrs. Corwin; and she went tosee him this evening. But he put her off with some excuse. Howstrange that any one should be so thoughtless as to withhold fromthe poor their hard-earned pittance! It is but a small sum at best,that the toiling seamstress or washerwoman can gain by her wearyinglabour. That, at least, should be promptly paid. To withhold it anhour is to do, in many cases, a great wrong."

For some minutes after this was said, there ensued a dead silence. Ifelt that the thoughts of all were turned upon me as the one who hadwithheld from poor Mrs. Blake the trifling sum due her for washing.What my feelings were, it is impossible for me to describe; anddifficult for any one, never himself placed in so unpleasant aposition, to imagine.

My relief was great when the conversation flowed on again, and inanother channel; for I then perceived that suspicion did not restupon me. You may be sure that Mrs. Blake had her money before teno'clock on the next day, and that I never again fell into the errorof neglecting, for a single week, my poor washerwoman.

FORGIVE AND FORGET.

THERE'S a secret in living, if folks only knew;An Alchymy precious, and golden, and true,More precious than "gold dust," though pure and refined,For its mint is the heart, and its storehouse the mind;Do you guess what I mean--for as true as I liveThat dear little secret's--forget and forgive!

When hearts that have loved have grown cold and estranged,And looks that beamed fondness are clouded and changed,And words hotly spoken and grieved for with tearsHave broken the trust and the friendship of years--Oh! think 'mid thy pride and thy secret regret,The balm for the wound is--forgive and forget!

Yes! look in thy spirit, for love may returnAnd kindle the embers that still feebly burn;And let this true whisper breathe high in thy heart,_'Tis better to love than thus suffer apart_--

Let the Past teach the Future more wisely than yet,For the friendship that's true can forgive and forget.

And now, an adieu! if you list to my layMay each in your thoughts bear my motto away,'Tis a crude, simple ryhme, but its truth may impartA joy to the gentle and loving of heart;And an end I would claim far more practical yetIn behalf of the Rhymer--_forgive and forget!_

OWE NO MAN ANYTHING.

THUS says an Apostle; and if those who are able to "owe no mananything" would fully observe this divine obligation, many, verymany, whom their want of punctuality now compels to live inviolation of this precept, would then faithfully and promptly renderto every one their just dues.

"What is the matter with you, George?" said Mrs. Allison to herhusband, as he paced the floor of their little sitting-room, with ananxious, troubled expression of countenance.

"Oh! nothing of much consequence: only a little worry of business,"replied Mr. Allison.

"But I know better than that, George. I know it is of consequence;you are not apt to have such a long face for nothing. Come, tell mewhat it is that troubles you. Have I not a right to share yourgriefs as well as your joys?"

"Indeed, Ellen, it is nothing but business, I assure you; and as Iam not blessed with the most even temper in the world, it does nottake much you know to upset me: but you heard me speak of that job Iwas building for Hillman?"

"Yes. I think you said it was to be five hundred dollars, did younot?"

"I did; and it was to have been cash as soon as done. Well, he tookit out two weeks ago; one week sooner than I promised it. I sent thebill with it, expecting, of course, he would send me a check for theamount; but I was disappointed. Having heard nothing from him since,I thought I would call on him this morning, when, to my surprise, Iwas told he had gone travelling with his wife and daughter, andwould not be back for six weeks or two months. I can't tell you howI felt when I was told this."

"He is safe enough for it I suppose, isn't he, George?"

"Oh, yes; he is supposed to be worth about three hundred thousand.But what good is that to me? I was looking over my books thisafternoon, and, including this five hundred, there is just fifteenhundred dollars due me now, that I ought to have, but can't get it.To a man doing a large business it would not be much; but to onewith my limited means, it is a good deal. And this is all in thehands of five individuals, any one of whom could pay immediately,and feel not the least inconvenience from it."

"Are you much pressed for money just now, George?"

"I have a note in bank of three hundred, which falls due to-morrow,and one of two hundred and fifty on Saturday. Twenty-five dollars atleast will be required to pay off my hands; and besides this, ourquarter's rent is due on Monday, and my shop rent next Wednesday.Then there are other little bills I wanted to settle, our own wantsto be supplied, &c."

"I have sent their bills in, but if I call on them so soon I mightperhaps affront them, and cause them to take their work away; andthat I don't want to do. However, I think I shall have to do it, letthe consequence be what it may."

"Perhaps you could borrow what you need, George, for a few days."

"I suppose I could; but see the inconvenience and trouble it puts meto. I was so certain of getting Hillman's money to meet these twonotes, that I failed to make any other provision."

"That would not have been enough of itself."

"No, but I have a hundred on hand; the two together would have paidthem, and left enough for my workmen too."

As early as practicable the next morning Mr. Allison started forthto raise the amount necessary to carry him safely through the week.He thought it better to try to collect some of the amounts owing tohim than to borrow. He first called on a wealthy merchant, whoseannual income was something near five thousand.

"Well, I intended coming down to see you, but I have been so busythat I have not been able. That carriage of mine which you did up afew weeks ago does not suit me altogether."

"What is the matter with it?"

"I don't like the style of trimming, for one thing; it has a commonlook to me."

"It is precisely what Mrs. Chapin ordered. You told me to suit her."

"Yes, but did she not tell you to trim it like General Spangler's?"

"I am very much mistaken, Mr. Chapin, if it is not precisely likehis."

"Oh! no; his has a much richer look than mine."

"The style of trimming is just the same, Mr. Chapin; but youcertainly did not suppose that a carriage trimmed with worsted lace,would look as well as one trimmed with silk lace?"

"No, of course not; but there are some other little things about itthat don't suit me. I will send my man down with it to-day, and hewill show you what they are. I would like to have it to-morrowafternoon, to take my family out in. Call up on Monday, and we willhave a settlement."

Mr. Allison next called at the office of a young lawyer, who hadlately come into possession of an estate valued at one hundredthousand dollars. Mr. Allison's bill was three hundred dollars,which his young friend assured him he would settle immediately, onlythat there was a slight error in the way it was made out, and nothaving the bill with him, he could not now correct it.

He would call on Mr. Allison with it, sometime during the next week,and settle it.

A Custom-House gentleman was next sought, but his time had been somuch taken up with his official duties, that he had not yet beenable to examine the bill. He had no doubt but it was all correct;still, as he was not accustomed to doing business in a loose way, hemust claim Mr. Allison's indulgence a few days longer.

Almost disheartened, Mr. Allison entered the store of the lastindividual who was indebted to him for any considerable amount, notdaring to hope that he would be any more successful with him thanwith the others he had called on. But he was successful; the bill,which amounted to near one hundred and fifty dollars, was promptlypaid, Mr. Allison's pocket, in consequence, that much heavier, andhis heart that much lighter. Fifty dollars was yet lacking of thesum requisite for that day. After calling on two or threeindividuals, this amount was obtained, with the promise of beingreturned by the middle of the next week.

"I shall have hard work to get through to-day, I know," said he tohimself, as he sat at his desk on the following morning.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars to be raised by borrowing. I don'tknow where I can get it."

To many this would be a small sum, but Mr. Allison was peculiarlysituated. He was an honest, upright mechanic, but he was poor. Itwas with difficulty he had raised the fifty dollars on the dayprevious. Although he had never once failed in returning money atthe time promised, still, for some reason or other, everybodyappeared unwilling to lend him. It was nearly two O'clock and he wasstill a hundred dollars short.

"Well," said he to himself, "I have done all I could, and if Hallwon't renew the note for the balance, it will have to be protested.I'll go and ask him, though I have not much hope that he will doit."

As he was about leaving his shop for that purpose, a gentlemanentered who wished to buy a second-hand carriage. Mr. Allison hadbut one, and that almost new, for which he asked a hundred and fortydollars.

"It is higher than I wished to go," remarked the gentleman. "I oughtto get a new one for that price."

"So you can, but not like this. I can sell you a new one for ahundred and twenty-five dollars. But what did you expect to pay forone?"

"I was offered one at Holton's for seventy-five; but I did not likeit. I will give you a hundred for yours."

"It is too little, indeed, sir: that carriage cost three hundreddollars when it was new. It was in use a very short time. I alloweda hundred and forty dollars for it myself."

"Well, sir, I would not wish you to sell at a disadvantage, but ifyou like to, accept of my offer I'll take it. I'm prepared to paythe cash down."

Mr. Allison did not reply for some minutes. He was undecided as towhat was best.

"Forty dollars," said he to himself, "is a pretty heavy discount. Iam almost tempted to refuse his offer and trust to Hall's renewingthe note. But suppose he won't--then I'm done for. I think, upon thewhole, I had better accept it. I'll put it at one hundred andtwenty-five, my good friend," said he, addressing the customer.

"No, sir; one hundred is all I shall give."

"Well, I suppose you must have it, then; but indeed you have got abargain."

"It is too bad," muttered Allison to himself, as he left the bankafter having paid his note. "There is just forty dollars thrownaway. And why? Simply because those who are blessed with the meansof discharging their debts promptly, neglect to do so."

"How did you make out to-day, George?" asked his wife, as they satat the tea-table that same evening.

"I met my note, and that was all."

"Did you give your men anything?"

"Not a cent. I had but one dollar left after paying that. I wassorry for them, but I could not help them. I am afraid Robinson'sfamily will suffer, for there has been sickness in his house almostconstantly for the last twelvemonth. His wife, he told me the otherday, had not been out; of her bed for six weeks. Poor fellow! Helooked quite dejected when I told him I had nothing for him."

At this moment; the door-bell rang and a minute or two afterwards, ayoung girl entered the room in which Mr. and Mrs. Allison weresitting. Before introducing her to our readers, we will conduct themto the interior of an obscure dwelling, situated near the outskirtsof the city. The room is small, and scantily furnished, and answersat once for parlour, dining-room, and kitchen. Its occupants, Mrs.Perry and her daughter, have been, since the earliest dawn of day,intently occupied with their needles, barely allowing themselvestime to partake of their frugal meal.

"Half-past three o'clock!" ejaculated the daughter, her eyesglancing, as she spoke, at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I amafraid we shall not get this work done in time for me to take ithome before dark, mother."

"We must try hard, Laura, for you know we have not a cent in thehouse, and I told Mrs. Carr to come over to-night, and I would payher what I owe her for washing. Poor thing! I would not like todisappoint her, for I know she needs it."

Nothing more was said for near twenty minutes, when Laura againbroke the silence.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "what a pain I have in my side!" And fora moment she rested from her work, and straightened herself in herchair, to afford a slight relief from the uneasiness sheexperienced. "I wonder, mother, if I shall always be obliged to sitso steady?"

"I hope not, my child; but bad as our situation is, there arehundreds worse off than we. Take Annie Carr, for instance--how wouldyou like to exchange places with her?"

"Poor Annie! I was thinking of her awhile go, mother. How hard itmust be for one so young to be so afflicted as she is!"

"And yet, Laura, she never complains; although for five years shehas never left her bed, and has often suffered, I know, for want ofproper nourishment."

"I don't think she will suffer much longer, mother. I stopped in tosee her the other day, and I was astonished at the change which hadtaken place in a short time. Her conversation, too, seems soheavenly, her faith in the Lord so strong, that I could not avoidcoming to the conclusion that a few days more, at the most, wouldterminate her wearisome life."

"It will be a happy release for her, indeed, my daughter. Still, itwill be a sore trial for her mother."

It was near six when Mrs. Perry and her daughter finished the workupon which they were engaged.

"Now Laura, dear," said the mother, "get back as soon as you can,for I don't like you to be out after night, and more than that, ifMrs. Carr comes, she won't want to wait."

About twenty minutes after the young girl had gone, Mrs. Carrcalled. "Pray, be seated, my dear friend," said Mrs. Perry, "mydaughter has just gone to Mrs. Allison's with some work, and as soonas she returns I can pay you."

"Oh, yes, a great deal; the doctor thinks she will hardly last tillmorning."

"Well, Mrs. Carr, death can be only gain to her."

"Very true; still, the idea of losing her seems dreadful to me."

"How does Mary get on at Mrs. Owring's?"

"Not very well; she has been at work for her just one month to-day;and although she gave her to understand that her wages would be atleast a dollar and a quarter a week, yet to-night, when she settledwith her, she wouldn't give her but three dollars, and at the sametime told her that if she didn't choose to work for that she couldgo."

"What do you suppose was the reason for her acting so?"

"I don't know, indeed, unless it is because she does not get therequite as early as the rest of her hands; for you see I am obliged tokeep her a little while in the morning to help me to move Anniewhile I make her bed. Even that little sum, small it was, would havebeen some help to us, but it had all to go for rent. My landlordwould take no denial. But I must go; you think I can depend onreceiving your money to-night?"

"I do. Mrs. Allison is always prompt in paying for her work as soonas it is done. I will not trouble you to come again for it, Mrs.Carr. Laura shall bring it over to you."

Let us now turn to the young girl we left at Mr. Allison's, whom ourreaders, no doubt, recognise as Laura Perry.

"Good evening, Laura," said Mrs. Allison, as she entered the room;"not brought my work home already! I did not look for it till nextweek. You and your mother, I am afraid, confine yourselves tooclosely to your needles for your own good. But you have not had yourtea? sit up, and take some."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Allison; mother will be uneasy if I stay long."

"Well, Laura, I am sorry, but I cannot settle with you to-night.Tell your mother Mr. Allison was disappointed in collectingto-day, or she certainly should have had it. Did she say how much itwas?"

"Two dollars, ma'am."

"Very well: I will try and let her have it next week."

The expression of Laura's countenance told too plainly thedisappointment she felt. "I am afraid Mrs. Perry is in want of thatmoney," remarked the husband after she had gone.

"Not the least doubt of it," replied his wife. "She would not havesent home work at this hour if she had not been. Poor things! whocan tell the amount of suffering and wretchedness that is caused bythe rich neglecting to pay promptly."

"You come without money, Laura," said her mother, as she entered thehouse.

"How do you know that, mother?" she replied, forcing a smile.

"I read it in your countenance. Is it not so?"

"It is: Mr. Allison was disappointed in collecting--what will we do,mother?"

"The best we can, my child. We will have to do without our beef fordinner to-morrow; but then we have plenty of bread; so we shall notstarve."

"And I shall have to do without my new shoes. My old ones are tooshabby to go to church in; so I shall have to stay at home."

"I am sorry for your disappointment, my child, but I care more forMrs. Carr than I do for ourselves. She has been here, and is in agreat deal of trouble. The doctor don't think Annie will live tillmorning, and Mrs. Owrings hag refused to give Mary more than threedollars for her month's work, every cent of which old Grimes tookfor rent. I told her she might depend on getting what I owed her,and that I would send you over with it when you returned. You hadbetter go at once and tell her, Laura; perhaps she may be able toget some elsewhere."

"How much is it, mother?"

"Half a dollar."

"It seems hard that she can't get that small sum."

With a heavy heart Laura entered Mrs. Carr's humble abode.

"Oh how glad I am that you have come, my dear!" exclaimed the poorwoman. "Annie has been craving some ice cream all day; it's the onlything she seems to fancy. I told her she should have it as soon asyou came."

Mrs. Carr's eyes filled with tears as Laura told of her ill success."I care not for myself," she said "but for that poor sufferingchild."

"Never mind me, mother," replied Annie. "It was selfish in me towant it, when I know how hard you and Mary are obliged to work forevery cent you get. But I feel that I shall not bother you muchlonger; I have a strange feeling here now." And she placed her handupon her left side.

"Stop!" cried Laura; "I'll try and get some ice cream for youAnnie." And off she ran to her mother's dwelling. "Mother," saidshe, as she entered the house, "do you recollect that half dollarfather gave me the last time he went to sea?"

"Yes, dear."

"Well, I think I had better take it and pay Mrs. Carr. Annie is verybad, and her mother says she has been wanting some ice cream allday."

"It is yours, Laura, do as you like about it."

"It goes hard with me to part with it, mother, for I had determinedto keep it in remembrance of my father. It is just twelve yearsto-day since he went away. But poor Annie--yes, mother, I will takeit."

So saying, Laura went to unlock the box which contained hertreasure, but unfortunately her key was not where she had supposedit was. After a half hour's search she succeeded in finding it.Tears coursed down her cheeks like rain as she removed from thecorner of the little box, where it had lain for so many years, thisprecious relic of a dear father, who in all probability, was buriedbeneath the ocean. Dashing them hastily away, she started again forMrs. Carr's. The ice cream was procured on the way, and, just as theclock struck eight, she arrived at the door. One hour has elapsedsince she left. But why does she linger on the threshold? Why butbecause the sounds of weeping and mourning have reached her ears,and she fears that all is over with her poor friend, Her fears areindeed true, for the pure spirit of the young sufferer has taken itsflight to that blest land where hunger and thirst are known no more.Poor Annie! thy last earthly wish, a simple glass of ice-cream, wasdenied thee--and why? We need not pause to answer: ye who have anabundance of this world's goods, think, when ye are about to turnfrom your doors the poor seamstress or washerwoman, or even thoseless destitute than they, without a just recompense for theirlabour, whether the sufferings and privations of some poor creatureswill not be increased thereby.

RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL.

OBADIAH LAWSON and Watt Dood were neighbours; that is, they livedwithin a half mile of each other, and no person lived between theirrespective farms, which would have joined, had not a little strip ofprairie land extended itself sufficiently to keep them separated.Dood was the oldest settler, and from his youth up had entertained asingular hatred against Quakers; therefore, when he was informedthat Lawson, a regular disciple of that class of people hadpurchased the next farm to his, he declared he would make him gladto move away again. Accordingly, a system of petty annoyances wascommenced by him, and every time one of Lawson's hogs chanced tostray upon Dood's place, he was beset by men and dogs, and mostsavagely abused. Things progressed thus for nearly a year, and theQuaker, a man of decidedly peace principles, appeared in no way toresent the injuries received at the hands of his spiteful neighbour.But matters were drawing to a crisis; for Dood, more enraged thanever at the quiet of Obadiah, made oath that he would do somethingbefore long to wake up the spunk of Lawson. Chance favoured hisdesign. The Quaker had a high-blooded filly, which he had been verycareful in raising, and which was just four years old. Lawson tookgreat pride in this animal, and had refused a large sum of money forher.

One evening, a little after sunset, as Watt Dood was passing aroundhis cornfield, he discovered the filly feeding in the little stripof prairie land that separated the two farms, and he conceived thehellish design of throwing off two or three rails of his fence, thatthe horse might get into his corn during the night. He did so, andthe next morning, bright and early, he shouldered his rifle and leftthe house. Not long after his absence, a hired man, whom he hadrecently employed, heard the echo of his gun, and in a few minutesDood, considerably excited and out of breath, came hurrying to thehouse, where he stated that he had shot at and wounded a buck; thatthe deer attacked him, and he hardly escaped with his life.

This story was credited by all but the newly employed hand, who hadtaken a dislike to Watt, and, from his manner, suspected thatsomething was wrong. He therefore slipped quietly away from thehouse, and going through the field in the direction of the shot, hesuddenly came upon Lawson's filly, stretched upon the earth, with abullet hole through the head, from which the warm blood was stilloozing.

The animal was warm, and could not have been killed an hour. Hehastened back to the dwelling of Dood, who met him in the yard, anddemanded, somewhat roughly, where he had been.

"I've been to see if your bullet made sure work of Mr. Lawson'sfilly," was the instant retort.

Watt paled for a moment, but collecting himself, he fiercelyshouted,

"Do you dare to say I killed her?"

"How do you know she is dead?" replied the man.

Dood bit his lip, hesitated a moment, and then turning, walked intothe house.

A couple of days passed by, and the morning of the third one hadbroken, as the hired man met friend Lawson, riding in search of hisfilly.

A few words of explanation ensued, when, with a heavy heart, theQuaker turned his horse and rode home, where he informed the peopleof the fate of his filly. No threat of recrimination escaped him; hedid not even go to law to recover damages; but calmly awaited hisplan and hour of revenge. It came at last.

Watt Dood had a Durham heifer, for which he had paid a heavy price,and upon which he counted to make great gains.

One morning, just as Obadiah was sitting down, his eldest son camein with the information that neighbour Dood's heifer had broken downthe fence, entered the yard, and after eating most of the cabbages,had trampled the well-made beds and the vegetables they contained,out of all shape--a mischief impossible to repair.

"And what did thee do with her, Jacob?" quietly asked Obadiah.

"I put her in the farm-yard."

"Did thee beat her?"

"I never struck her a blow."

"Right, Jacob, right; sit down to thy breakfast, and when doneeating I will attend to the heifer."

Shortly after he had finished his repast, Lawson mounted a horse,and rode over to Dood's, who was sitting under the porch in front ofhis house, and who, as he beheld the Quaker dismount, supposed hewas coming to demand pay for his filly, and secretly swore he wouldhave to law for it if he did.

"Good morning, neighbour Dood; how is thy family?" exclaimedObadiah, as he mounted the steps and seated himself in a chair.

"All well, I believe," was the crusty reply.

"I have a small affair to settle with you this morning, and I camerather early."

"So I suppose," growled Watt.

"This morning, my son found thy Durham heifer in my garden, whereshe has destroyed a good deal."

"And what did he do with her?" demanded Dood, his brow darkening.

"What would thee have done with her, had she been my heifer in thygarden?" asked Obadiah.

"I'd a shot her!" retorted Watt, madly, "as I suppose you have done;but we are only even now. Heifer for filly is only 'tit for tat.'"

"Neighbour Dood, thou knowest me not, if thou thinkest I would harma hair of thy heifer's back. She is in my farm-yard, and not even ablow has been struck her, where thee can get her at any time. I knowthee shot my filly; but the evil one prompted thee to do it, and Ilay no evil in my heart against my neighbours. I came to tell theewhere thy heifer is, and now I'll go home."

Obadiah rose from his chair, and was about to descend the steps,when he was stopped by Watt, who hastily asked,

"What was your filly worth?"

"A hundred dollars is what I asked for her," replied Obediah.

"Wait a moment!" and Dood rushed into the house, from whence he soonreturned, holding some gold in his hand. "Here's the price of yourfilly; and hereafter let there be a pleasantness between us."

"Willingly, heartily," answered Lawson, grasping the proffered handof the other; "let there be peace between us."

Obadiah mounted his horse, and rode home with a lighter heart, andfrom that day to this Dood has been as good a neighbour as one couldwish to have; being completely reformed by the RETURNING GOOD FOREVIL.

PUTTING YOUR HAND IN YOUR NEIGHBOUR'S POCKET.

"DO you recollect Thomas, who lived with us as waiter about twoyears ago, Mary?" asked Mr. Clarke, as he seated himself in hiscomfortable arm-chair, and slipped his feet into the nicely-warmed,embroidered slippers, which stood ready for his use.

"Certainly," was the reply of Mrs. Clarke. "He was a bright, activefellow, but rather insolent."

"He has proved to be a regular pickpocket," continued her husband,"and is now on his way to Blackwell's Island."

"A very suitable place for him. I hope he will be benefited by a fewmonths' residence there," returned the lady.

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Mr. Joshua Clarke, an uncle of the youngcouple, who was quietly reading a newspaper in another part of theroom. "There are many of high standing in the world, who deserve togo to Blackwell's Island quite as much as he does."

"You are always making such queer speeches, Uncle Joshua," said hisniece. "I suppose you do not mean that there are pickpockets amongrespectable people?"

"Indeed, there are, my dear niece. Your knowledge of the world mustbe very limited, if you are not aware of this. Putting your hand inyour neighbour's pocket, is one of the most fashionableaccomplishments of the day."

Mrs. Clarke was too well acquainted with her uncle's peculiaritiesto think of arguing with him. She therefore merely smiled, and saidto her husband:--

"Well, Henry, I am glad that neither you nor myself are acquaintedwith this fashionable accomplishment."

"Not acquainted with it!" exclaimed the old gentleman. "I thoughtyou knew yourselves better. Why, you and Henry are both regularpickpockets!"

"I wonder that you demean yourself by associating with us!" was theplayful reply.

"Oh, you are no worse than the rest of the world; and, besides, Ihope to do you some good, when you grow older and wiser. At present,Henry's whole soul is absorbed in the desire to obtain wealth."

"Certainly," replied Uncle Joshua, "in the common acceptation of thewords _fair_ and _honourable_. But, do you never, in your mercantilespeculations, endeavour to convey erroneous impressions to the mindsof those with whom you are dealing? Do you not sometimes suppressinformation which would prevent your obtaining a good bargain? Doyou never allow your customers to purchase goods under false ideasof their value and demand in the market? If you saw a man, lessskilled in business than yourself, about to take a step injurious tohim, but advantageous to you, would you warn him of his danger--thusobeying the command to love your neighbour as yourself?"

"Why, uncle, these questions are absurd. Of course, when engaged inbusiness, I endeavour to do what is for my own advantage--leavingothers to look out for themselves."

"Exactly so. You are perfectly willing to put your hand in yourneighbour's pocket and take all you can get, provided he is not wiseenough to know that your hand is there."

"Oh, for shame, Uncle Joshua! I shall not allow you to talk to Henryin this manner," exclaimed Mrs. Clarke perceiving that her husbandlooked somewhat irritated. "Come, prove your charge against me. Inwhat way do I pick my neighbour's pockets?"

"You took six shillings from the washerwoman this morning," coollyreplied Uncle Joshua.

"_Took_ six shillings from the washerwoman! Paid her six shillings,you mean, uncle. She called for the money due for a day's work, andI gave it to her."

"Yes, but not till you had kept her waiting nearly two hours. Iheard her say, as she left the house, 'I have lost a day's work bythis delay, for I cannot go to Mrs. Reed's at this hour; so I shallbe six shillings poorer at the end of the week.'"

"Why did she wait, then? She could have called again. I was notready to attend to her at so early an hour."

"Probably she needed the money to-day. You little know the value ofsix shillings to the mother of a poor family, Mary; but, you shouldremember that her time is valuable, and that it is as sinful todeprive her of the use of it, as if you took money from her purse."

"Well, uncle, I will acknowledge that I did wrong to keep the poorwoman waiting, and I will endeavour to be more considerate infuture. So draw your chair to the table, and take a cup of tea andsome of your favourite cakes."

"Thank you, Mary; but I am engaged to take tea with your old friend,Mrs. Morrison. Poor thing! she has not made out very well lately.Her school has quite run down, owing to sickness among her scholars;and her own family have been ill all winter; so that her expenseshave been great."

"I am sorry to hear this," replied Mrs. Clarke. "I had hoped thather school was succeeding. Give my love to her, uncle, and tell herI will call upon her in a day or two."

Uncle Joshua promised to remember the message, and bidding Mr. andMrs. Clarke good evening, he was soon seated in Mrs. Morrison's neatlittle parlour, which, though it bore no comparison with thespacious and beautifully furnished apartments he had just left, hadan air of comfort and convenience which could not fail to please.

Delighted to see her old friend, whom she also, from early habit,addressed by the title of Uncle Joshua, although he was no relation,Mrs. Morrison's countenance, for awhile beamed with that cheerful,animated expression which it used to wear in her more youthful days;but an expression of care and anxiety soon over shadowed it, and, inthe midst of her kind attentions to her visiter, and heraffectionate endearment to two sweet children, who were playingaround the room, she would often remain thoughtful and abstractedfor several minutes.

Uncle Joshua was an attentive observer, and he saw that somethingweighed heavily upon her mind. When tea was over, and the littleones had gone to rest, he said, kindly,

"Come, Fanny, draw your chair close to my side, and tell me all yourtroubles, as freely as you used to do when a merry-heartedschool-girl. How often have listened to the sad tale of the petpigeon, that had flown away, or the favourite plant killed by theuntimely frost. Come, I am ready, now as then, to assist you with myadvice, and my purse, too, if necessary."

Tears started to Mrs. Morrison's eyes, as she replied.

"You were always a kind friend to me, Uncle Joshua, and I willgladly confide my troubles to you. You know that after my husband'sdeath I took this house, which, though small, may seem far above mylimited income, in the hope of obtaining a school sufficiently largeto enable me to meet the rent, and also to support myself andchildren. The small sum left them by their father I determined toinvest for their future use. I unwisely intrusted it to one whobetrayed the trust, and appropriated the money to some wildspeculation of his own. He says that he did this in the hope ofincreasing my little property. It may be so, but my consent shouldhave been asked. He failed and there is little hope of our everrecovering more, than a small part of what he owes us. But, toreturn to my school. I found little difficulty in obtainingscholars, and, for a short time, believed myself to be doing well,but I soon found that a large number of scholars did not insure alarge income from the school. My terms were moderate, but still Ifound great difficulty in obtaining what was due to me at the end ofthe term.

"A few paid promptly, and without expecting me to make unreasonabledeductions for unpleasant weather, slight illness, &c., &c. Otherspaid after long delay, which often put me to the greatestinconvenience; and some, after appointing day after day for me tocall, and promising each time that the bill should be settledwithout fail, moved away, I knew not whither, or met me at lengthwith a cool assurance that it was not possible for them to pay me atpresent--if it was ever in their power they would let me know."

"Downright robbery!" exclaimed Uncle Joshua. "A set of pickpockets!I wish they were all shipped for Blackwell's Island."

"There are many reasons assigned for not paying," continued Mrs.Morrison. "Sometimes the children had not learned as much as theparents expected. Some found it expedient to take their childrenaway long before the expiration of the term, and then gazed at me inastonishment when I declared my right to demand pay for the wholetime for which they engaged. One lady, in particular, to whosedaughter I was giving music lessons, withdrew the pupil underpretext of slight indisposition, and sent me the amount due for ahalf term. I called upon her, and stated that I considered theengagement binding for twenty-four lessons, but would willingly waituntil the young lady was quite recovered. The mother appeared toassent with willingness to this arrangement, and took the profferedmoney without comment. An hour or two after I received a laconicepistle stating that the lady had already engaged another teacher,whom she thought preferable--that she had offered me the amount duefor half of the term, and I had declined receiving it--therefore sheshould not offer it again. I wrote a polite, but very plain, replyto this note, and enclosed my bill for the whole term, but havenever heard from her since."

"Do you mean to say that she actually received the money which youreturned to her without reluctance, and gave you no notice of herintention to employ another teacher?" demanded the old gentleman.

"Certainly; and, besides this, I afterwards ascertained that theyoung lady was actually receiving a lesson from another teacher,when I called at the house--therefore the plea of indisposition wasentirely false. The most perfect satisfaction had always beenexpressed as to the progress of the pupil, and no cause was assignedfor the change."

"I hope you have met with few cases as bad as this," remarked UncleJoshua. "The world must be in a worse state than even I hadsupposed, if such imposition is common."

"This may be an extreme case," replied Mrs. Morrison, "but I couldrelate many others which are little better. However, you will soonweary of my experience in this way, Uncle Joshua, and I willtherefore mention but one other instance. One bitter cold day inJanuary, I called at the house of a lady who had owed me a smallamount for nearly a year, and after repeated delay had reluctantlyfixed this day as the time when she would pay me at least a part ofwhat was due. I was told by the servant who opened the door that thelady was not at home.

"What time will she be in?" I inquired.

"Not for some hours," was the reply.

Leaving word that I would call again towards evening, I retraced mysteps, feeling much disappointed at my ill success, as I had feltquite sure of obtaining the money. About five o'clock I againpresented myself at the door, and was again informed that the ladywas not at home.

"I will walk in, and wait for her return," I replied.

The servant appeared somewhat startled at this, but after a littledelay ushered me into the parlour. Two little boys, of four and sixyears of age, were playing about the room. I joined in their sports,and soon became quite familiar with them. Half an hour had passedaway, when I inquired of the oldest boy what time he expected hismother?

"Not till late," he answered, hesitatingly.

"Did she take the baby with her this cold day?" I asked.

"Yes, ma'am," promptly replied the girl, who, under pretence ofattending to the children, frequently came into the room.

The youngest child gazed earnestly in my face, and said, smilingly,

"Mother has not gone away, she is up stairs. She ran away with babywhen she saw you coming, and told us to say she had gone out. I amafraid brother will take cold, for there is no fire up stairs."

"It is no such thing," exclaimed the girl and the eldest boy. "Sheis not up stairs, ma'am, or she would see you."

But even as they spoke the loud cries of an infant were heard, and avoice at the head of the stairs calling Jenny.

The girl obeyed, and presently returned with the child in her arms,its face, neck, and hands purple with cold.

"Poor little thing, it has got its death in that cold room," shesaid. "Mistress cannot see you, ma'am, she is sick and gone to bed."

"This last story was probably equally false with the other, but Ifelt that it was useless to remain, and with feelings of deep regretfor the poor children who were so early taught an entire disregardfor truth, and of sorrow for the exposure to cold to which I hadinnocently subjected the infant, I left the house. A few days after,I heard that the little one had died with croup. Jenny, whom Iaccidentally met in the street, assured me that he took the coldwhich caused his death from the exposure on the afternoon of mycall, as he became ill the following day. I improved the opportunityto endeavour to impress upon the mind of the poor girl the sin ofwhich she had been guilty, in telling a falsehood even in obedienceto the commands of her mistress; and I hope that what I said may beuseful to her.

"The want of honesty and promptness in the parents of my pupilsoften caused me great inconvenience, and I frequently found itdifficult to meet my rent when it became due. Still I have struggledthrough my difficulties without contracting any debts until thiswinter, but the sickness which has prevailed in my school has somaterially lessened my income, and my family expenses have, for thesame reason, been so much greater, that I fear it will be quiteimpossible for me to continue in my present situation."

"Do not be discouraged," said Uncle Joshua; "I will advance whateversum you are in immediate need of, and you may repay me when it isconvenient to yourself. I will also take the bills which are due toyou from various persons, and endeavour to collect them. Yourpresent term is, I suppose, nearly ended. Commence another with thisregulation:--That the price of tuition, or at least one-half of it,shall be paid before the entrance of the scholar. Some will complainof this rule, but many will not hesitate to comply with it, and youwill find the result beneficial. And now I would leave you, Fanny,for I have another call to make this evening. My young friend,William Churchill, is, I hear, quite ill, and I feel desirous to seehim. I will call upon you in a day or two, and then we will haveanother talk about your affairs, and see what can be done for you.So good night, Fanny; go to sleep and dream of your old friend."

Closing the door after Uncle Joshua, Mrs. Morrison returned to herroom with a heart filled with thankfulness that so kind a friend hadbeen sent to her in the hour of need; while the old gentleman walkedwith rapid steps through several streets until he stood at the doorof a small, but pleasantly situated house in the suburbs of thecity. His ring at the bell was answered by a pretty,pleasant-looking young woman, whom he addressed as Mrs. Churchill,and kindly inquired for her husband.

"William is very feeble to-day, but he will be rejoiced to see you,sir. His disease is partly owing to anxiety of mind, I think, andwhen his spirits are raised by a friendly visit, he feels better."

Uncle Joshua followed Mrs. Churchill to the small room which nowserved the double purpose of parlour and bedroom. They were met atthe door by the invalid, who had recognised the voice of his oldfriend, and had made an effort to rise and greet him. His sunkencountenance, the hectic flush which glowed upon his cheek, and thedistressing cough, gave fearful evidence that unless the disease wassoon arrested in its progress, consumption would mark him for itsvictim.

The friendly visiter was inwardly shocked at his appearance, butwisely made no allusion to it, and soon engaged him in cheerfulconversation. Gradually he led him to speak openly of his ownsituation,--of his health, and of the pecuniary difficulties withwhich he was struggling. His story was a common one. A young familywere growing up around him, and an aged mother and invalid sisteralso depended upon him for support. The small salary which heobtained as clerk in one of the most extensive mercantileestablishments in the city, was quite insufficient to meet hisnecessary expenses. He had, therefore, after being constantlyemployed from early morning until a late hour in the evening,devoted two or three hours of the night to various occupations whichadded a trifle to his limited income. Sometimes he procured copyingof various kinds; at others, accounts, which he could take to hisown house, were intrusted to him. This incessant application hadgradually ruined his health, and now for several weeks he had beenunable to leave the house.

"Have you had advice from an experienced physician, William?"inquired Uncle Joshua. The young man blushed, as he replied, that hewas unwilling to send for a physician, knowing that he had no meansto repay his services.

"I will send my own doctor to see you," returned his friend. "He canhelp you if any one can, and as for his fee I will attend to it, andif you regain your health I shall be amply repaid.--No, do not thankme," he continued, as Mr. Churchill endeavoured to express hisgratitude. "Your father has done me many a favour, and it would bestrange if I could not extend a hand to help his son when introuble. And now tell me, William, is not your salary very small,considering the responsible situation which you have so long held inthe firm of Stevenson & Co.?"

"It is," was the reply; "but I see no prospect of obtaining more. Ibelieve I have always given perfect satisfaction to my employer,although it is difficult to ascertain the estimation in which heholds me, for he is a man who never praises. He has never foundfault with me, and therefore I suppose him satisfied, and indeed Ihave some proof of this in his willingness to wait two or threemonths in the hope that I may recover from my present illness beforemaking a permanent engagement with a new clerk. Notwithstandingthis, he has never raised my salary, and when I ventured to say tohim about a year ago, that as his business had nearly doubled sinceI had been with him, I felt that it would be but just that I shouldderive some benefit from the change, he coolly replied that mypresent salary was all that he had ever paid a clerk, and heconsidered it a sufficient equivalent for my services. He knows verywell that it is difficult to obtain a good situation, there are somany who stand ready to fill any vacancy, and therefore he feelsquite safe in refusing to give me, more."

"And yet," replied Uncle Joshua, "he is fully aware that theadvantage resulting from your long experience and thoroughacquaintance with his business, increases his income several hundreddollars every year, and this money he quietly puts into his ownpocket, without considering or caring that a fair proportion of itshould in common honesty go into yours. What a queer world we livein! The poor thief who robs you of your watch or pocket-book, ispunished without delay; but these wealthy defrauders maintain theirrespectability and pass for honest men, even while withholding whatthey know to be the just due of another.

"But cheer up, William, I have a fine plan for you, if you can butregain your health. I am looking for a suitable person to takecharge of a large sheep farm, which I propose establishing on theland which I own in Virginia. You acquired some knowledge of farmingin your early days. How would you like to undertake this business?The climate is delightful, the employment easy and pleasant; and itshall be my care that your salary is amply sufficient for thesupport of your family."

Mr. Churchill could hardly command his voice sufficiently to expresshis thanks, and his wife burst into tears, as she exclaimed,

"If my poor husband had confided his troubles to you before, hewould not have been reduced to this feeble state."

"He will recover," said the old gentleman. "I feel sure, that in onemonth, he will look like a different man. Rest yourself, now,William, and to-morrow I will see you again."

And, followed by the blessings and thanks of the young couple, UncleJoshua departed.

"Past ten o'clock," he said to himself, as he paused near alamp-post and looked at his watch. "I must go to my own room."

As he said this he was startled by a deep sigh from some one near,and on looking round, saw a lad, of fourteen or fifteen years ofage, leaning against the post, and looking earnestly at him.

Uncle Joshua recognised the son of a poor widow, whom he hadoccasionally befriended, and said, kindly,

"Well, John, are you on your way home from the store? This is rathera late hour for a boy like you."

"Yes, sir, it is late. I cannot bear to return home to my poormother, for I have bad news for her to-night. Mr. Mackenzie does notwish to employ me any more. My year is up to-day."

"Why, John, how is this? Not long ago your employer told me that hewas perfectly satisfied with you; indeed, he said that he neverbefore had so trusty and useful a boy."

"He has always appeared satisfied with me, sir, and I haveendeavoured to serve him faithfully. But he told me to-day that hehad engaged another boy."

Uncle Joshua mused for a moment, and then asked,

"What was he to give you for the first year, John?"

"Nothing, sir. He told my mother that my services would be worthnothing the first year, but the second he would pay me fiftydollars, and so increase my salary as I grew older. My poor motherhas worked very hard to support me this year, and I had hoped that Iwould be able to help her soon. But it is all over now, and Isuppose I must take a boy's place again, and work another year fornothing."

"And then be turned off again. Another set of pickpockets," mutteredhis indignant auditor.

"Pickpockets!" exclaimed the lad. "Did any one take your watch justnow, sir? I saw a man look at it as you took it out. Perhaps we canovertake him. I think he turned into the next street."

"No, no, my boy. My watch is safe enough. I am not thinking ofstreet pickpockets, but of another class whom you will find out asyou grow older. But never mind losing your place, John. My nephew isin want of a boy who has had some experience in your business, andwill pay him a fair salary--more than Mr. Mackenzie agreed to giveyou for the second year. I will mention you to him, and you may callat his store to-morrow at eleven o'clock, and we will see if youwill answer his purpose."

"Thank you, Sir, I am sure I thank you; and mother will bless youfor your kindness," replied the boy, his countenance glowing withanimation; and with a grateful "good night," he darted off in thedirection of his own home.

"There goes a grateful heart," thought Uncle Joshua, as he gazedafter the boy until he turned the corner of the street anddisappeared. "He has lost his situation merely because another canbe found who will do the work for nothing for a year, in the vainhope of future recompense. I wish Mary could have been with me thisevening; I think she would have acknowledged that there are manyrespectable pickpockets who deserve to accompany poor Thomas toBlackwell's Island;" and thus soliloquizing, Uncle Joshua reachedthe door of his boarding-house, and sought repose in his own room.

KIND WORDS.

WE have more than once, in our rapidly written reflections, urgedthe policy and propriety of kindness, courtesy, and good-willbetween man and man. It is so easy for an individual to manifestamenity of spirit, to avoid harshness, and thus to cheer and gladdenthe paths of all over whom he may have influence or control, that itis really surprising to find any one pursuing the very oppositecourse. Strange as it may appear, there are among the children ofmen, hundreds who seem to take delight in making others unhappy.They rejoice at an opportunity of being the messengers of eviltidings. They are jealous or malignant; and in either case theyexult in inflicting a wound. The ancients, in most nations, had apeculiar dislike to croakers, prophets of evil, and the bearers ofevil tidings. It is recorded that the messenger from the banks ofthe Tigris, who first announced the defeat of the Roman army by thePersians, and the death of the Emperor Julian, in a Roman city ofAsia Minor, was instantly buried under a heap of stones thrown uponhim by an indignant populace. And yet this messenger was innocent,and reluctantly discharged a painful duty. But how different thespirit and the motive of volunteers in such cases--those who exultin an opportunity of communicating bad news, and in some degreerevel over the very agony which it produces. The sensitive, thegenerous, the honourable, would ever be spared from such painfulmissions. A case of more recent occurrence may be referred to as inpoint. We allude to the murder of Mr. Roberts, a farmer of NewJersey, who was robbed and shot in his own wagon, near Camden. Itbecame necessary that the sad intelligence should be broken to hiswife and family with as much delicacy as possible. A neighbour wasselected for the task, and at first consented. But, onconsideration, his heart failed him. He could not, he said,communicate the details of a tragedy so appalling and he begged tobe excused. Another, formed it was thought of sterner stuff, wasthen fixed upon: but he too, rough and bluff as he was in hisordinary manners, possessed the heart of a generous and sympathetichuman being, and also respectfully declined. A third made a likeobjection, and at last a female friend of the family was with muchdifficulty persuaded, in company with another, to undertake themournful task. And yet, we repeat, there are in society, individualswho delight in contributing to the misery of others--who are eagerto circulate a slander, to chronicle a ruin, to revive a forgottenerror, to wound, sting, and annoy, whenever they may do so withimpunity. How much better the gentle, the generous, the magnanimouspolicy! Why not do everything that may be done for the happiness ofour fellow creatures, without seeking out their weak points,irritating their half-healed wounds, jarring their sensibilities, orembittering their thoughts! The magic of kind words and a kindmanner can scarcely be over-estimated. Our fellow creatures are moresensitive than is generally imagined. We have known cases in which agentle courtesy has been remembered with pleasure for years. Whoindeed cannot look back into "bygone time," and discover some smile,some look or other demonstration of regard or esteem, calculated tobless and brighten every hour of after existence! "Kind words," saysan eminent writer, "do not cost much. It does not take long to utterthem. They never blister the tongue or lips on their passage intothe world, or occasion any other kind of bodily suffering; and wehave never heard of any mental trouble arising from this quarter.Though they do not cost much, yet they accomplish much. 1. They helpone's own good nature and good will. One cannot be in a habit ofthis kind, without thereby pecking away something of the graniteroughness of his own nature. Soft words will soften his own soul.Philosophers tell us that the angry words a man uses in his passionare fuel to the flame of his wrath, and make it blaze the morefiercely. Why, then, should not words of the opposite characterproduce opposite results, and that most blessed of all passions ofthe soul, kindness, be augmented by kind words? People that are forever speaking kindly, are for ever disinclining themselves toill-temper. 2. Kind words make other people good-natured. Cold wordsfreeze people, and hot words scorch them, and sarcastic wordsirritate them, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful wordsmake them wrathful. And kind words also produce their own image onmen's souls; and a beautiful image it is. They soothe, and quiet,and comfort the hearer. They shame him out of his sour, morose,unkind feelings; and he has to become kind himself. There is such arush of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seemsdesirable to give kind words a chance among them. There are vainwords, idle words, hasty words, spiteful words, silly words, andempty words. Now kind words are better than the whole of them; andit is a pity that, among the improvements of the present age, birdsof this feather might not have more of a chance than they have hadto spread their wings."

It is indeed! Kind words should be brought into more general use.Those in authority should employ them more frequently, whenaddressing the less fortunate among mankind. Employers should usethem in their intercourse with their workmen. Parents should utterthem on every occasion to their children. The rich should neverforget an opportunity of speaking kindly to the poor. Neighbours andfriends should emulate each other in the employment of mild, gentle,frank, and kindly language. But this cannot be done unless eachendeavours to control himself. Our passions and our prejudices mustbe kept in check. If we find that we have a neighbour on the otherside of the way, who has been more fortunate in a worldly sense thanwe have been, and if we discover a little jealousy or envy creepinginto our opinions and feelings concerning said neighbour--let us becareful, endeavour to put a rein upon our tongues, and to avoid theindulgence of malevolence or ill-will. If we, on the other hand,have been fortunate, have enough and to spare, and there happens tobe in our circle some who are dependent upon us, some who look up tous with love and respect--let us be generous, courteous, andkind--and thus we shall not only discharge a duty, but prove asource of happiness to others.

NEIGHBOURS' QUARRELS.

MOST people think there are cares enough in the world, and yet manyare very industrious to increase them:--One of the readiest ways ofdoing this is to quarrel with a neighbour. A bad bargain may vex aman for a week, and a bad debt may trouble him for a month; but aquarrel with his neighbours will keep him in hot water all the yearround.

Aaron Hands delights in fowls, and his cocks and hens are alwaysscratching up the flowerbeds of his neighbour William Wilkes, whosemischievous tom-cat every now and then runs off with a chicken. Theconsequence is, that William Wilkins is one half the day occupied indriving away the fowls, and threatening to screw their long uglynecks off; while Aaron Hands, in his periodical outbreaks,invariably vows to skin his neighbour's cat, as sure as he can layhold of him.

Neighbours! Neighbours! Why can you not be at peace? Not all thefowls you can rear, and the flowers you can grow, will make amendsfor a life of anger, hatred, malice, and uncharitableness. Come tosome kind-hearted understanding one with another, and dwell inpeace.

Upton, the refiner, has a smoky chimney, that sets him and all theneighbourhood by the ears. The people around abuse him withoutmercy, complaining that they are poisoned, and declaring that theywill indict him at the sessions. Upton fiercely sets them atdefiance, on the ground that his premises were built before theirs,that his chimney did not come to them, but that they came to hischimney.

Neighbours! Neighbours! practise a little more forbearance. Had halfa dozen of you waited on the refiner in a kindly spirit, he wouldyears ago have so altered his chimney, that it would not haveannoyed you.

Mrs. Tibbets is thoughtless--if it were not so she would never havehad her large dusty carpet beaten, when her neighbour, who had awash, was having her wet clothes hung out to dry. Mrs. Williams ishasty and passionate, or she would never have taken it for grantedthat the carpet was beaten on purpose to spite her, and give hertrouble. As it is, Mrs. Tibbets and Mrs. Williams hate one anotherwith a perfect hatred.

Neighbours! Neighbours! bear with one another. We are none of usangels, and should not, therefore, expect those about us to be freefrom faults.

They who attempt to out-wrangle a quarrelsome neighbour, go thewrong way to work. A kind word, and still more a kind deed, will bemore likely to be successful. Two children wanted to pass by asavage dog: the one took a stick in his hand and pointed it at him,but this only made the enraged creature more furious than before.The other child adopted a different plan; for by giving the dog apiece of his bread and butter, he was allowed to pass, the subduedanimal wagging his tail in quietude. If you happen to have aquarrelsome neighbour, conquer him by civility and kindness; try thebread and butter system, and keep your stick out of sight. That isan excellent Christian admonition, "A soft answer turneth awaywrath, but grievous words stir up anger."

Neighbours' quarrels are a mutual reproach, and yet a stick or astraw is sufficient to promote them. One man is rich, and anotherpoor; one is a churchman, another a dissenter; one is aconservative, another a liberal; one hates another because he is ofthe same trade, and another is bitter with his neighbour because heis a Jew or a Roman Catholic.

Neighbours! Neighbours! live in love, and then while you make othershappy, you will be happier yourselves.

"That happy man is surely blest, Who of the worst things makes the best; Whilst he must be of temper curst, Who of the best things makes the worst."

"Be ye all of one mind," says the Apostle, "having compassion one ofanother; love as brethren, be pitiful, be courteous; not renderingevil for evil, or railing for railing, but contrariwise blessing."To a rich man I would say, bear with and try to serve those who arebelow you; and to a poor one--

WE all might do good Where we often do ill;There is always the way, If we have but the will;Though it be but a word Kindly breathed or supprest,It may guard off some pain, Or give peace to some breast.

We all might do good In a thousand small ways--In forbearing to flatter, Yet yielding _due_ praise--In spurning ill humour, Reproving wrong done,And treating but kindly Each heart we have won.

We all might do good, Whether lowly or great,For the deed is not gauged By the purse or estate;If it be but a cup Of cold water that's given,Like "the widow's two mites," It is something for Heaven.

THE TOWN LOT.

ONCE upon a time it happened that the men who governed the municipalaffairs of a certain growing town in the West, resolved, in gravedeliberation assembled, to purchase a five-acre lot at the north endof the city--recently incorporated--and have it improved for a parkor public square. Now, it also happened, that all the saleableground lying north of the city was owned by a man named Smith--ashrewd, wide-awake individual, whose motto was "Every man forhimself," with an occasional addition about a certain gentleman inblack taking "the hindmost."

Smith, it may be mentioned, was secretly at the bottom of thisscheme for a public square, and had himself suggested the matter toan influential member of the council; not that he was moved by whatis denominated public spirit--no; the spring of action in the casewas merely "private spirit," or a regard for his own good. If thecouncil decided upon a public square, he was the man from whom theground would have to be bought; and he was the man who could get hisown price therefor.

As we have said, the park was decided upon, and a committee of twoappointed whose business it was to see Smith, and arrange with himfor the purchase of a suitable lot of ground. In due form thecommittee called upon the landholder, who was fully prepared for theinterview.

"You are the owner of those lots at the north end?" said thespokesman of the committee.

"I am," replied Smith, with becoming gravity.

"Will you sell a portion of ground, say five acres, to the city?"

"For what purpose?" Smith knew very well for what purpose the landwas wanted.

"We have decided to set apart about five acres of ground, andimprove it as a kind of park, or public promenade."

"Have you, indeed? Well, I like that," said Smith, with animation."It shows the right kind of public spirit."

"We have, moreover, decided that the best location will be at thenorth end of the town."

"Decidedly my own opinion," returned Smith.

"Will you sell us the required acres?" asked one of the councilmen.

"That will depend somewhat upon where you wish to locate the park."

The particular location was named.

"The very spot," replied Smith, promptly, "upon which I have decidedto erect four rows of dwellings."

"But it is too far out for that," was naturally objected.

"O, no; not a rod. The city is rapidly growing in that direction. Ihave only to put up the dwellings referred to, and dozens will, beanxious to purchase lots, and build all around them. Won't theground to the left of that you speak of answer as well?"

But the committee replied in the negative. The lot they hadmentioned was the one decided upon as most suited for the purpose,and they were not prepared to think of any other location.

All this Smith understood very well. He was not only willing, butanxious for the city to purchase the lot they were negotiating for.All he wanted was to get a good round price for the same--say fouror five times the real value. So he feigned indifference, and threwdifficulties in the way.

A few years previous to this time, Smith had purchased aconsiderable tract of land at the north of the then flourishing